The last phrase sounds so strange that the usually not too emotional resident raises an eyebrow in surprise.

– 'I couldn't know,' he says. – About that, I mean, I can't; but I do know that she went out for a couple of hours with Moss, yes, because I was giving him a report at the time. And then she came back, yes, and I was still doing it, so Moss was tormenting me for two hours, yes, he couldn't live quietly…

…It's pitch black in the locker room, and when the lights flicker, reacting to movement, Emily thinks she's about to go blind. Reaching into the locker, she tears open the sealed bag, hastily removes the blood-stained robe, and shoves it inside.

She slaps her bare feet on the unsterile floor, unafraid of catching an infection, pushes open the shower stall door, turns on the hot water, and leans her forehead against the soft blue tiles on the wall.

She fears this day will never end.

A bloody obstacle course.

Gold dances under her swollen eyelids, circles that must be how the capillaries tear. Water poured into my eyes, into my mouth, trickled down in a thin stream, smashing against my legs.

There's a little more left. Just a little longer, and she'll climb under the covers, close the gray blinds, and fall asleep.

She'll deal with everything tomorrow.

The shower room fills with smells – apricot shampoo, milk shower gel – and sparkling foam swirling around the drain grate; steam rises into the air and remains hovering somewhere at head level; Emily pulls on her towel, miraculously not slipping on the slippery tiles.

She just wants time to go faster.

But as she wraps the huge striped scarf around her neck and prepares to slip into her coat, Emily notices a white stain in the corner of her locker.

The white robe, borrowed from Clark for the rest of the day, causes only tired irritation – I should not have taken it at all, and now, apologizing a thousand times for the inconvenience, carry it back.

To Clark.

To the Underworld.

* * *

She stands with her arms around her shoulders, still wearing her light green surgical suit, looking out through the endless veil of fog. A carved statue, shattered, splintered.

No trace of the unbending surgeon remains; Lorraine seems too human – sharp shoulders, skinny arms, thin, skinned bones; and in her enormous form she is lost. She dissolves, desperately embracing herself, almost scratching, straining her long fingers with the swollen ring mark – and the bandage finally loosens, leaving barely visible white threads on the thin fabric.

Emily can't take her eyes off of her.

Clark gets under her skin. Under her ribs, bypassing the arteries, it slides into her heart; it sprouts through, pierces her bones, and that's it, the point is reached, you can't get it out if you want to.

Stubborn grass through concrete.

And then she clutches her mouth with her palm, covers it with another and breaks – with a thin, barely audible crunch; bending in half, clutching the cold floor with her knees, with a choked sob, frantically pressing her hands on her trembling lips so as not to give herself away.

To tell those inadvertent, ill-timed visitors: I just lost my earring.

And to wipe the gray bandage of salt from her cheeks.

Emily catches up with her in an instant – even if she scolds her, pushes her away, screams, it doesn't matter – and cradles her.

It is so torn, shattered, cracked; and this stone shell crumbles, showering everything around them with gray sand; and Emily repeats everything as she goes along, absolutely not knowing what to do, but holding the thin body to her as if to protect her from the whole world:

– It's just a scratch, come on, it will heal… It's just a scratch, tomorrow it will be easier, and in a few days we will take the stitches out… I will help, in everything, really, really. I may be silly, I may be stupid, but I'll do anything and everything…

Emily knows that everything you're afraid of will happen tomorrow, but tomorrow is hours away, and now all her fears are receding, and even Clark, who seemed so arrogant and prickly before, turns out to be human.

– It'll heal," Emily whispers into Clark's hair. – You'll see.

They sit on the floor of the office.

And autumn smells like salt.

I can't help thinking you're stronger, you're the most beautiful thing in the world, your eyes will sell the whole world for you, but I'm a coin from a purse.